


Celestial Songs

by Gelid_illuminant



Series: Songs and Stuff [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Singing, angel stuff, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22124986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelid_illuminant/pseuds/Gelid_illuminant
Summary: In which Aziraphale sings and Crowley is an idiot.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Songs and Stuff [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600831
Kudos: 23





	Celestial Songs

Crowley sauntered into the bookshop, a bottle of wine in each hand. Aziraphale had his back turned to Crowley, and was arranging some books.

_“Came, on a Sabbath noon, my sweet_

_In white, to find her lover_

_The grass grew proud beneath her feet_

_The green elm-leaves above her_

_Meet we no angels, Pansie?_

_She said, ‘We meet no angels now,’_

_And soft lights streamed upon her_

_And with white hand she touched the bough_

_She did it that great honour_

_What! Meet we no angels, Pansie_

_O sweet brown hat, brown hair, brown eyes_

_Down-dropped brown eyes so tender!_

_Then what said I? Gallant replies_

_Seem flattery, and offend her_

_But, meet we no angels, Pansie?_

Crowley stopped dead. Aziraphale was _singing_. Did he usually sing? Crowley had only ever heard Aziraphale sing when he was _exceedingly_ drunk. Had he been drinking already? It was only five o’ clock.

_“The night has a thousand eyes_

_And the day but one_

_Yet the light of the bright world dies_

_With the dying sun_

_The mind has a thousand eyes_

_And the heart but one_

_Yet the light of a whole life dies_

_When love is done.”_

He stood there, unsure what to do, until Aziraphale turned around, holding a book. “Oh, Crowley, my dear, how lovely it is to see you!” He was grinning broadly, eyes shining. “Uh, so you sing, now?”

“Yes, of course. I’m an _angel_.” Aziraphale replied cheerfully. “We always used to sing, you remember, don’t you? The Celestial Choi-”

Crowley _slammed_ him into the wall. “I do not now, nor _ever_ remember the _damn_ Celestial Choir! Do you hear me!?” Too late, Crowley realised his mistake. He was _so_ close to Aziraphale. Their noses were almost touching. The angel looked into his sunglasses as if trying to peer through them to Crowley’s eyes. “Yes, of course. I do apologise, dear boy.”

Crowley let Aziraphale go and stepped back, running his hand through his hair to hide his embarrassment. He couldn’t help thinking that he wanted to hear more of Aziraphale singing. “Don’t bother. Seriously. So, um, I brought wine.”

“Lovely.”

Five hours of drinking later and Crowley was ready to sober up and go home. But Aziraphale had started to sing again, and it was different this time.

_“It was down by old Joe’s barrom, on the corner of the square_

_They were serving drinks as usual, and the usual crowd was there_

_On my left stood Big Joe McKennedy, and his eyes were bloodshot red”_

“Angel, why are you singing again? What’s gotten into you?” Was he really happy about something? Maybe it was because they’d survived the not-Apocalypse. Aziraphale just smiled and said, “Oh, nothing, nothing. I’m just in a singing mood, dear boy.” Crowley wished that Aziraphale would stop calling him that. It was making him feel uncomfortable, to be called ‘boy’ by the angel he lov-

No, stop thinking like that. “So, is it cool if I crash here? Don’t feel like sobering up.”

“That’s just fine. You can sleep on my bed, if you like.” Aziraphale said like it was no big deal. Crowley gulped. The idea of sleeping on Aziraphale’s bed, breathing his scent all night, seeing the angel in blissful sleep…that was too much. But he was going to do it anyway. “Y-yeah, sure, I guess. No big deal.”

“I don’t usually sleep anyway.”

“Oh,” Crowley muttered, not at all disappointed.

The bed was so old that the mattress was made of straw. Instead of wooden slats to keep it up, there was a network of ropes. Crowley climbed in and rested his head on the tartan pillow. He started at the ceiling, then clicked his fingers to turn out the lights. The bed didn’t smell like Aziraphale – it just smelled musty. He remembered beds like this, and hated them. By the time he woke up, the mattress would have sagged so much that he’d basically be sitting up in the bed. These things were so uncomfortable. Oh well, he was so drunk he’d sleep great anyway. He just wished Aziraphale was here, next to him, their energies combining in a perfect concoction of heady lov-

No, don’t think like that. Not in his _bed._

The next morning, Crowley woke up to a minor headache and a major grogginess. He miracled it away with a thought and struggled out of the saggy bed. His clothes were all wrinkled, so he miracled them smooth, and went into the next room, which was a pokey little sitting area combined with a kitchen. Aziraphale was sitting at the well-scrubbed but cluttered kitchen table, eating English muffins and sipping cocoa from a winged mug. He was also humming between mouthfuls. “Ah, Crowley, good morning! It’s a beautiful day. Would you like some breakfast?”

“I ate like a week ago.”

“In that case, how about some tea?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll make it, don’t get up.”

Crowley happily explored Aziraphale’s cupboards. It was fun snooping through other people’s stuff, particularly since it was Aziraphale’s. He found a few well-used mugs, several tea-strainers and quite the collection of novelty spoons. One of them had Bugs Bunny on it. As he made tea, behind him, Aziraphale started to sing again.

_“O, love is like the roses_

_And every rose shall fall_

_For sure as Summer closes_

_They perish one and all_

_Then love, while leaves are on the tree_

_And birds sing in the bowers_

_When winter comes, too late ‘t will be_

_To pluck the happy flowers_

_O love is like the roses_

_Love comes, and love must flee!_

_Before the Summer closes_

_Love’s rapture and love’s glee!”_

Crowley gripped his mug unsteadily as he thought about the implications of Aziraphale singing a love song. And singing about love being fleeting, too. _Oh_ , was Aziraphale _in love_? God, Satan, Somebody, _no!_ Had someone come into his shop and actually taken an interest in his stupidly old books, so Aziraphale had fallen for them? This couldn’t be happening. Crowley had always assumed that, as an angel, Aziraphale wouldn’t be interested in romantic love. All-encompassing, compassionate, radiating love? Sure. But _romance_? Of course not. “My dear, are you alright? The kettle boiled quite some time ago.” Oh, yes, the tea. Crowley poured took the kettle from the stove and poured the water into his mug. “Why don’t you get an electric kettle like everyone else?”

“Those things break ever so easily.”

Crowley went home after his cuppa, and sat in his apartment, thinking about what was happening. So, Aziraphale was happy enough to suddenly start singing about love. So, he must be _in_ love. But with whom? If Crowley could find out, he could sneakily undermine their relationship. He’d have to spend more time at the shop. That would be okay, because he’d get to listen to more of Aziraphale’s singing. But it would be hard to hide his own feelings for that much time. His desires would have to be pushed aside, however, if he was going to sabotage this relationship. But what excuse could he use for hanging around the shop so much? Maybe he could say his apartment was being fumigated. Cockroaches or something. Maybe rats. He could say he didn’t miracle them away because the people in the other apartments in the building would wonder what had happened to the creatures if he did.

When Crowley got to the bookshop that afternoon, Aziraphale was singing again.

_Daisy, Daisy, give me your heart to do_

_I’m half crazy, hopeful in love with you_

_It won’t be a stylish marriage_

_I can’t afford a carriage_

_But you look sweet upon the street_

_On a bicycle built for two.”_

Oh, he had it _bad_. Crowley felt a vat of jealousy broiling in his stomach. What could he do to end this? Did he even…did he even have a _right_ to end it? Would Aziraphale figure it out and leave him, forever this time? No, he wouldn’t…couldn’t do that. He would never leave him again, right? _Right?_ No. This was too big a risk. Crowley would just…have to let him have this…this affair. A voice broke into his panicked thoughts. “Ah, Crowley! Second day in a row? I see you brought chocolates! Oh, salted caramel? That sounds terribly modern.” Aziraphale was beaming at him, his hands behind his back, rocking back-and-forth on his feet. He was just _that_ happy. Crowley proffered the box of chocolates. “Figured it was time you tried it…” He muttered, trying desperately to maintain his cool.

The little moaning sound Aziraphale made as he bit into the first chocolate made Crowley’s skin tingle. He started at him from behind his sunglasses. Aziraphale looked to be in absolute _bliss._ This was really, _really_ bad. What could Crowley do? “So, um, who is it, then?”

“Who is who, dear boy?” Crowley winced at the nickname. “You know what I mean,” he waved his hands in the air. “The lucky…um, woman?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Aziraphale said, nonplussed. Crowley groaned inwardly. He’d have to go even more direct. “Your crush, I mean. All this singing, it means you’ve got a crush, right?” He said, trying hard not to grumble. Aziraphale still looked confused. “What is a… _’crush’_?” Oh for badness sake! “It means you _fancy_ someone! Like…like that girl on the bike and her boyfriend!”

“Oh. I see.” Was all Aziraphale said. They sat in silence for awhile. “So who is it? Or would you rather keep that to yourself?” Crowley asked boldly. Aziraphale put his hand to his mouth and bit his lip as if stifling some kind of reaction. “Why, dear boy, it’s not that at all. It is merely that I am happy to have survi-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit! I might not be an angel anymore but I still recognise love when I see it. And you have it bad. You’re in love, I can tell. Tell me who it is.” Crowley’s voice was a low snarl. Aziraphale fiddled with the ring on his little finger, a habit that Crowley found endlessly endearing. “I’m not lying to you, Crowley. I promised myself I wouldn’t lie to you, not after the bandstand…” Oh. They hadn’t talked about that before.

Crowley wanted to run away from Aziraphale now. But he sat there on the plush couch, tapping his foot on the floor anxiously. “The bandstand is in the past, angel. Forget it.” Crowley growled. Aziraphale shook his head, looking down at his hands. “I _can’t_ forget it…I was so horrible to you…simply horrible…And, it was all a lie. I _do…_ like you, I mean. You’re my friend. My best friend.” Somehow these words hurt even more than those at the bandstand. Maybe because he knew these ones were true. That’s all they were. Friends. Best friends, yes, but still just friends. Crowley hadn’t thought that he’d let himself hope, but maybe he had, just a little bit. Hoped that his feelings could be reciprocated. But no. There was nothing there. “Yeah, I know. Don’t get all soft on me now, angel.”

“But I _am_ soft, Crowley. That’s me all over. And I want to be completely honest with you from now on. You are my best friend. And as your best friend, I’m telling you, that there is no one…else, in my life. It’s just you.” Aziraphale spoke in almost a whisper. _What?_ Crowley thought. He’d said that almost like their relationship _was_ a romantic one. Or at least, somehow exclusive. “It’s okay to have more than one friend, you know.” He said. Aziraphale laughed nervously. “Do you have more friends than just I?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ve…um, no.” Crowley couldn’t lie to Aziraphale, not after this. He’d never lied to him before, either. Except for that time in the Nineteenth Century, about having other people to fraternise with. And unless you counted hiding his true feelings. Yeah, that was a pretty big lie, come to think of it. Aziraphale was speaking again. “Neither do I. Oh, I have acquaintances. But no friends. It’s hard, to befriend creatures with such short lives, you know?”

Yeah, that was true. So why was Aziraphale in love with a huma-

 _Oh._ He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. So who was it? Another…not another demon, surely? It certainly wasn’t an angel. All those guys were pricks. Crowley’s Adam’s apple wobbled. “So…tell me who it is. You can…you can trust me…” He blanched when he saw the look of anger on Aziraphale’s face. “I told you, there is no one! I am simply happy to be alive! I am happy that _you_ are alive! If you don’t trust me then…then you can just _leave!_ ” He stood up, fists clenched. Crowley could almost imagine his wings coming out, intimidating him.

“Fi-fine, I’ll go, then…” Crowley growled, and slunk out of the shop. His face burned with shame. Why couldn’t he just keep his stupid mouth shut? Now Aziraphale wouldn’t speak to him for a century.

Three months passed. Crowley slept for most of the time. Occasionally he would get up and mist the plants, have a shower, watch a bit of Bake-Off. But whenever he was awake, his thoughts would turn to Aziraphale, and how badly he’d fucked up. So he’d soon be back in bed. In his dreams, the argument played over and over again. Stupid. Stupid. _Stupid._ Stupid bloody demon. What if Aziraphale never spoke to him again? What if they had survived the Apocalypse for nothing? Crowley had lost him, again. This time it would be for good. Another four months. He drank, and he slept, and he drank and he slept. He watched QI, just for a change.

A month later, Crowley woke up in the middle of the night. He wandered aimlessly around the flat, bottle of wine in hand, wondering what he could do to pass the time before his body could sleep again. He spied something white on the table. A letter? He picked it up and read the name on the envelope. _To Crowley._ Huh. Only a supernatural being could have gotten this letter onto his table. Crowley opened it up with a thought and unfolded the piece of paper inside. He gasped.

_To my dearest Crowley,_

_Please do not cast aside this missive. I know it is a bore, but I implore you to read this note. I find myself having to, once again, apologise for my behaviour. Believe me, I am ashamed of myself and my actions. I should not have thrown you out of my shop and I should not have taken this long to contact you. But my heart has been heavy, and I have been unable to find the words to express myself. But now I can at least try, although my efforts may well prove wanting. I must explain._

_I grew angry with you because I was scared. I was scared of the depth of my feelings, and I was scared of you knowing that. I am an angel, but I was not built for this. I was not created to feel this way. Neither were you. For a long time, I believed you to be incapable of returning my affections. But now I know better. You called me your best friend. Clearly, you do care for me. But the question remains in my heart, just in what_ way _do you care for me? Simply as friends? As immortal beings, sharing a long life together? Or could it be that you feel the same way about me as I feel about you, and this is why you questioned me about my singing. The truth is, I_ have _been overjoyed since our survival, and the success of our trick upon Heaven and Hell. The reason is not simply due to our survival, however. The reason is that I am now free, free to love whoever I so desire._

_Crowley, even if you never read this message, even if you hate me for it, I simply have to admit to it, at last. I’ve wanted to admit it for so long, but I was afraid that Heaven would cast me out, and that Hell would destroy you. Now, I can say with full earnestness that I am in love. And I am in love with you, Crowley. Not_ despite _your demonic nature, because I love every part of who you are. Burn this letter if you will. Cast it into the Seventh Circle. Never speak to me again. But please, just do one thing for me. Believe me, for I would never lie to you again._

_Yours in perpetuity,_

_Aziraphale._

Crowley stood stock still, utterly bewildered. Aziraphale was in love, with _him?_ How could this be…he’d never let on…unless? All those tender smiles…that look he gave in 1941…his comment in 1967? Could this be true? Crowley clutched at his heart, which was beating much too fast. It hurt. What should he do…? Wait another seven months to calm down? Drive to the bookshop at break-neck speed and embrace Aziraphale in a volley of kisses? Yes, that sounded good.

Not long later, Crowley knocked on the door of the bookshop. He waited impatiently, gripping the bouquet of roses nervously. Finally, Aziraphale opened the door. Silence ensued for a moment. Then, Aziraphale’s arms were around his shoulders. “I thought I’d never see you again…”

“I’d never leave you. Surely you know that by now?” Crowley murmured against his soft curls. He brought up his arms to hold Aziraphale closer, smelling his cologne and longing to stay like this, always. But Aziraphale broke away, took his hand and led him into the shop. “Crowley, you don’t hate me?” He asked timidly. Crowley chuckled weakly. “I could never hate you, angel. Quite the opposite, in fact.” He waved the bouquet. Aziraphale smiled shyly. “Does that mean that you…you feel the same way?”

“Yes, it does.”

Crowley crossed the room and took Aziraphale’s face in one hand, and wrapped one arm around his waist. Drew him close, gazing down into his eyes. His next words came easily, more easily than he ever expected them to. “I love you, angel. Aziraphale.”

“I love you, Crowley.” Their lips met; gentle, chaste, pure. It was perfect. Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s love for him pouring into his soul. He hadn’t felt the love of another being since before his Fall. He didn’t think it was possible to feel it again. But here he was, folded into a cocoon of love by his angel. He knew Aziraphale would be able to sense his love, too. That’s just what angels did. When they finally broke apart, Aziraphale’s eyes were glazed over. Crowley laughed at the sight. “You look ridiculous.”

“You look beautiful.”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and led him to the nearest couch to kiss some more. As they went, Aziraphale started to sing again.

_“Let me call you ‘sweetheart’_

_I’m in love with you_

_Let me hear you whisper_

_That you love me too_

_Keep the love-light glowing_

_In your eyes so true_

_Let me call you ‘sweetheart’_

_I’m in love with you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Songs (apart from St. James Infirmary Blues and Daisy Bell and Let me Call You Sweetheart) are from the Project Gutenburg eBook of Victorian Songs.
> 
> 'Meet We No Angles, Pansie' by Thomas Ashe  
> 'The Night Has a Thousand Eyes' By Francis William Bourdillon (also inspired by A Series of Unfortunate Events)  
> 'St. James Infirmary Blues' by Unknown  
> 'Love in Winter' by Robert Buchanan  
> 'Daisy Bell' by Harry Dacre  
> 'Let Me Call You Sweetheart' by Leo Friedman and Beth Slater Whitson


End file.
